


december 10th: it's got bette midler

by watergator



Series: december fic advent 2020 [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Tattoos, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watergator/pseuds/watergator
Summary: prompt: tattooblaine has a deep appreciation for kurt's tattoo
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: december fic advent 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035978
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	december 10th: it's got bette midler

“That tickles.”

Kurt’s voice is muffled from where his face is buried deep within the pillow, croaky and thick from the sleep he’s just emerged from, and his bare skin flinches under the feather-light touch as Blaine drags his fingertip across the small line of text that’s bled under the skin of his shoulder blade, tracing over each letter by letter, again and again, until Kurt twitches again and gives a grumble.

“I said, that tickles.”

He’s turned his face this time, twisted his neck around to glance behind him where he’s just about to meet his eyes with Blaine’s, and their hooded and glossy; tired looking as he smacks his lips together.

Blaine just smirks, pressing the pad of his finger into the muscle of his shoulder a little harder that has Kurt’s face going pliant for a second.

“Is this part of your weird tattoo kink?” He asks, flopping back down to bury his head into his pillow; it’s Sunday and neither of them have anywhere to be today. No work, no plans, no nothing.

Just this.

“You started it,” Blaine croaks, eyes flickering down to the ink on his husband's skin, curving around perfectly. He brushes his thumb across it, like it might smudge under his touch, but of course, years of being there, it doesn’t move.

Kurt mumbles something incoherent and Blaine chuckles.

“What was that?” He asks and Kurt lifts his head up with a heavy sigh.

“I said I thought Adam Levine was the founder in that department?”

Blaine can hear the smile curled around his words without even having to see his face.

Blaine laughs, leans his head forward and presses his lips to the skin, warm from his touch, and lingers there as he speaks.

“Yeah but I don’t get to wake up to Adam Levine every morning, do I?” He says and he kisses his shoulder again before there’s a shuffle and a grunt and Kurt’s facing him, eyes hooded and lips twitching into a smile.

“Are you saying you want to?” He asks, batting his lashes playfully. “Wake up to Mr Maroon 5, that is?”

Blaine huffs a laugh, his eyes flicker to his lips and he stops himself for maybe half a second as he laughs again.

“Never,” he whispers and kisses him right on the mouth, long and slow and sweet.

*

Blaine spits into the sink, there’s water splashed down his trousers and when he looks up into the mirror, there’s a smear of toothpaste on his chin.

He turns angrily as he bends back down and splashes water back over his face, only to miss, and if he hadn’t looked like he’d pee’d himself before, he definitely did now.

He groans. Today is just one of those days. He checks his watch, eyes go wide rather comically as he realises he has only ten minutes to throw together his lunch and get to the studio where he knows people are waiting for him.

The sound of the shower sprays comes to a halt and there’s the gentle padding of feet as Kurt steps out.

“Oh!” He exclaims, and Blaine hasn’t even looked up as he grabs the hand towel and starts dabbing at his crotch.

“It’s freezing out here,” Kurt frowns, ducking his head out behind the curtain and Blaine looks up briefly to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Could you grab me my towel?” He asks sweetly and Blaine just darts out of the bathroom, almost tripping over shoes left on the floor, albeit, they’re  _ his  _ shoes, but he curses under his breath, and he snatches the towel left on the bed, leaps back over the shoes and back to the bathroom.

His brain is running like a miniature hamster on a treadmill; steam and smoke bellowing out from the sheer intensity of it, only for it all to come to a screeching halt when he looks up and seems Kurt in the shower still, his back to him as he puts away the shampoo bottles in the neat little shelf.

His mouth goes dry as he watches the water drip, drip, drip, all the way down his back, water cascading across his tattoo as the muscles underneath it tense and then relax within a second.

He must be able to sense him just standing there, because Kurt turns around, completely naked and uncaring as he holds a hand out for his towel, and Blaine has to actually snap his mouth shut like a damn fish as he dumbly hands it over, silently protesting as Kurt wraps it around himself, a smug smirk pulls at his lips, knowing full well what he’s capable of.

Blaine is just stood there still when Kurt steps out of the shower, little droplets of water drip off his face as his hair flops down over his forehead as he leans in as he passes him, stopping to press his lips to his cheek, smiling as he does so.

“Aren’t you going to be late?” Kurt purrs, and Blaine jumps, like the hamster in his head has been jolted into action, and he darts out of the bathroom, grabbing all his stuff in a last minute attempt to make sure he can get out of here on time.

He’s grabbing his keys and his bag, and just before he flings the door open and launches himself out, he can hear Kurt laughing to himself, clearly very pleased with himself, the bastard.

*

The air is salty and warm, and Blaine closes his eyes, tipping his head back to let himself soak up the sun. It’s rare that he and Kurt ever have any time to get away, and whilst New York is like their adopted home (sorry, Ohio but you do suck in comparison) it does feel good to be away from the heavy pulse of the city, and to just enjoy to sun and sea, bathing it all in before they have to return to that pulse that is their life now.

He hears heavy breathing come up beside him but he doesn’t bother opening his eyes, too lazy to want to even try as he hears a shuffling sound beside him, and then a grunt.   
  
“Babe, did you take the sunscreen out of the bag?”   
  
Kurt’s voice is a little raspy and breathless sounding, because of course even on vacation, his husband has to commit to keeping himself fit, even when the opportunity to just lay back and relax was right in front of him - so he’d chosen to run up and down the beach instead of just falling asleep under the sun like Blaine had intended.   
  
He cracks open an eye, and Kurt is standing over him, blocking out the sun as it halos around his head like some kind of angel, and he has to squint to get a proper look at him.   
  
His face is red and blotchy, but a few days in the LA heat had blessed him with a scattering of light freckles over his cheeks and nose, a pleasure that Blaine wasn’t usually used to. He really did have to find a way to thank Mercedes properly for letting them stay in her beach house.   
  
“Blaine?” Kurt asks, still standing there as he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up a little from the sweat, and it’s then that Blaine remembers he’s being asked a question.   
  
“Oh,” Blaine sits up. “Yeah, here,” he mumbles as he passes him the bottle, and Kurt takes it before pausing.   
  
“Wanna do my back?” He asks and Blaine doesn’t need to be asked twice as he quickly sits up straight, brushes imaginary sand off his hands and takes the bottle to squeeze a generous dollop in his palm.   
  
“Be gentle,” Kurt murmurs as Blaine situates himself on his knees, ready to smother the cream into his back. “I think I pulled something. Not used to the strain of the sand,” he winces and Blaine pouts as he gently stands rubbing in the cream.   
  
“Poor baby,” he coos, making slow, soothing circles, starting at the base of his neck and then gradually making his way towards his shoulder blades and Kurt lets out an airy laugh.   
  
“Don’t pretend you care,” he teases. “You just wanted to do this so you can an excuse to publicly drool over my stupid tattoo.”   
  
Blaine smiles even though Kurt can’t see it, and rubs his thumb over the permanent ink. “Not true,” he says quietly, even though it’s a bit of a lie. “I can’t have my husband hurting himself so early into our vacation now, can I?”   
  
Kurt turns his head around at that and just rolls his eyes, trying hard to hide his smile but failing miserably.

“Whatever,” he shakes his head and Blaine continues rubbing in the last of the sunscreen with a grin on his face that eventually starts hurting his cheeks.

*

Blaine bites back a cough, almost choking on it before swallowing it down as he listens to the sounds of the man beside him, enough for him to be sick himself. Kurt’s whole body jerks and he gags again and all Blaine can do is just grimace as he watches his husband hurl into the toilet bowl for what must be the tenth time in the last hour.   
  
Kurt breathes heavily, gasping for air, and he shakes, hot and cold at the same time, and as Blaine watches him, hands gripped tight around the rim of the toilet, knuckles gone white and body quivering, he wishes that he could take away his pain.   
  
“Do you think you’re done for now?” Blaine asks gently, but Kurt doesn’t reply, going still for a moment, as if bracing himself.   
  
He gags, jolts, hurls, and then spits again and Blaine keeps rubbing his back and doing his best to soothe him when he starts to whimper and whine.   
  
“I know, baby,” he wants to cry too. He hates seeing him like this. “It’ll be over soon.”   
  
He can’t actually be sure of that, but he knows for a fact that a stomach bug doesn’t last forever, and eventually his body will give back into sleep like it has been doing for the last three days, and Kurt will hopefully start to feel a bit more normal when he isn’t living off crackers and plain ice water.   
  
Kurt gags again but his stomach must be empty because he just spits up bile, and he coughs weakly.   
  
“I feel awful,” he says, voice shaking and unsteady and Blaine shifts from where he’s knelt down beside him. In the early morning light, he can just about make out the outline of Kurt’s face, pulled down into a frown and his heart aches with it.   
  
“I know,” Blaine says, unsure of what else to say. He rubs his back through his shirt and pulls a face.   
  
“You’re sweating,” he comments. “Do you wanna change clothes?”   
  
He only asks because the shirt is actually sticking to his skin now, and there’s no way it can feel comfortable. Kurt gingerly pulls his head out of the toilet bowl, his eyes are ringed with dark bruises, face looking gaunt and pale and he just nods before he coughs again, and a trail of dribble escapes his lips before he pulls a face and spits once again into the toilet with another weak cough.

Blaine feels utterly helpless as he watches Kurt fumble, trying to pull himself up off the floor, struggling like baby Bambi, all limbs as he shakes and trembles under his own weight, and Blaine swoops in to help him.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, putting an arm across his chest to support him. “Take it easy, okay?”

Kurt just grunts, huffs heavily, and with the help of Blaine, he’s able to sit up, chest heaving like it’s the world's hardest Olympic sport.

“Arms up,” Blaine guides him, a gentle hand on his wrist as Kurt struggles to keep them above his head.

Blaine wastes no time in grabbing the bottom of his shirt, tugging it as it clings to his body, and there’s a bit of a struggle to pull it off his head, both of them giving a long sigh of relief once it’s off, and Blaine tosses it to the side, a hand on Kurt’s back when he watches him give a little sway.

“Are you—”

He’s cut off when Kurt gasps, leans back forward desperately, and throws up again, hacking and coughing violently as he shakes and twitches.

All Blaine can do is rub circles on his back, face pinched into a frown as he watches him, unable to really be of much help. He knows that soon enough it’ll pass, and in the next hour or so he’ll have him tucked into bed with a cup of tea and maybe some dry toast if he’s feeling up to it.

“It’s okay,” Blaine soothes him as Kurt spits the last contents of his stomach into the bowl. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He rubs his thumb over his back, working against taut muscles, working over his beared tattoo that’s barely visible in the dim light.

He leans forward, presses his lips to the base of his neck, then down between his shoulder blades, and then a third time against his tattoo. 

“It’s alright,” he soothes, and Kurt just does his best to pull himself up, his full weight leaning against Blaine, happy to support him in any way he can. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”   
  
*   
  
Blaine is shaking, panting, his breath is hot and his skin feels tacky and sweaty, wrapped around Kurt’s like this. He’s been toeing the finish line for so long, their bodies move together like perfect harmony, and all it takes is a gasp, a shiver and a moan and they come undone together.    
  
Blaine grunts, eyes close so tightly that stars burts behind his vision; swirls of colour and explosion like his own private viewing of a firework show, and he’s finally bought back to the real world when he hears the heavy breathing of Kurt beneath him, and it takes him a few slow blinks for the fireworks to cease, and he can see again.   
  
Kurt’s beneath him; his face is turned to the left, his hair has flopped down over his eyes, plastered to his forehead with sweat; his cheeks are flushed and blotchy and his eyes are closed, like he’s already fallen asleep.    
  
There’s a little wet patch smeared into the pillow cushioning his head where his lips are parted and it makes Blaine shiver a little at the fact that he made Kurt practically  _ drool _ .

Before he can get to big headed he moves, pulling himself off before his chest fuses with Kurt’s back from how hot and sweaty they both are, and he lifts a shaky arm to pat Kurt’s shoulder as a last minute warning, resulting in a lazy grunt of approval as Blaine slowly and carefully pulls out.   
  
Kurt sighs, Blaine chews on his bottom lip as he falls back to sit on his knees, Kurt making no effort to move at all, where he’ll probably fall asleep there unless Blaine has to physically force him to move and roll over. But he won’t.   
  
“Want me to fetch you a bottle of water?” Blaine asks, his voice husky.   
  
“Mmfp,” Kurt grunts in response and Blaine chuckles, pushing his curls out of his face, coming loose of it’s gel hours ago when their adventure had started as just a make out and grind on the couch.   
  
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching his legs out right down to the toes as he gives a hiss and a groan as his muscles and bones pop and crack back into place now that he’s not kneeling anymore.   
  
He stands, stretches his back out for good measure and pads into the kitchen, grabbing two waters from the fridge, grinning at how icy cold they are, knowing how much his husband will appreciate it.   
  
He returns back to their room where, of course, Kurt hasn’t made any effort to move still.   
  
Sprawled out on the bed, one arm flung above his head and the other trapped between the mattress and his belly - Blaine makes a mental note that the sheets will most definitely need to be changed before tonight.   
  
He looks so long and slender and beautiful, stretched out like this, the afternoon light is filtering in through the blinds, showing off the shapes and curves of his body and how much it’s changed over the years, and Blaine can’t wrap his head around the idea of how this man is the same shy boy he met years ago.   
  
His tattoo is inked across his toned shoulder blade and it makes Blaine smile. Many memories of lips attached to that tattoo, how many times had he run his thumb across it. He wishes he could return to the first moment he’d ever seen it; both through Skype and then eventually in real life.   
  
It still earns the same reaction as it does now as it did when he first realised how much he really loves Kurt’s tattoo. So maybe it is a bit of a kink, he thinks to himself.    
  
Maybe.   
  
“Are you staring at my ass?” Kurt asks, voice thick as he manages to lift his head up and look at Blaine for maybe half a second before flopping back down again with a huff.   
  
Blaine snorts. “Nope,” he says, popping the p, walking around to leave the bottle of water on Kurt’s bedside table.   
  
“Oh,” Kurt croaks, then, “Oh, you’re looking at my tattoo again, huh?”   
  
Blaine crawls back onto the bed, unscrews the cap off his bottle and takes a gulp.   
  
“Maybe,” he gasps as he takes a breath, putting the bottle down. “It drives me a little nuts.”   
  
Kurt laughs and Blaine can’t resist slinking down to lay down beside him, pressing his body against Kurt’s, humming as skin touches skin once again. It’s a good thing they have the water because if they’re going for round two, it’s best to stay hydrated.   
  
“You don’t say, huh?” Kurt teases, and Blaine just laughs, leans forward, and plants his lips against the tattoo, taking a deep breath as he does, lingering there for as long as he can.   
  
He pulls away and Kurt’s humming in contentedness, and it sends a thrill of excitement right up his spine.   
  
So maybe it drives him a little more than just a  _ little _ nuts. Just maybe.

Still. it isn’t hurting anyone he decides. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr !! @watergator


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